Vision (13 page)

Pete lay curled up at his feet. Bobby sat on the couch, enjoying the smells of cooking and the sound of happy laughter while Coco told him a series of ridiculously farfetched tales he suspected were made up. With the hard edges softened and blurred, his dreary house felt somehow different, transformed into something magical.

“You should write screenplays, dude.”

“Are you insinuating my stories are lies?”

Bobby laughed. “I’m not insinuating anything.” Bobby thought of his own unlikely adventures. He burned to tell someone what he’d seen, what he’d done. But who would believe him now?
How am I going to nail this guy if I can’t see?
“But they’re far-fetched enough to make great movies.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help it if adventure seeks me out.”

Bobby laughed. Someone stuck a plate in his lap. “What’s on here?”

“Guess!”

“Not fair,” Bobby muttered. Slowly, the room was filling in with vague details. In the hazy golden glow of the candlelight, Bobby found he didn’t want to see the gritty details of their house. In this state between vision and blindness, he could imagine himself to be anywhere. In a castle, maybe.

“Egg rolls. Definitely miniature egg rolls,” Bobby said between bites. “Just got to compare my taste buds to the menu at the Graxton Grill. Does your dad know you made off with the whole kitchen?”

“Hey!” A shadow shifted right across from him, and Bobby found he ached to see the curve of her long legs, the way her hair fell like a copper waterfall over her shoulders. If only he could figure out an excuse to touch her. But he’d pushed her away. She was only here on a mission of mercy. She wouldn’t come near him.

As the evening progressed, Bobby’s vision returned in fits and starts, like a print developing in darkroom chemicals. But the beginnings of a headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“What’s wrong, dude? We boring you?” Coco asked.

“No. Headache,” Bobby muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Someone placed the glasses in his hand. “Maybe you should keep those on,” Gabe said. “You know, just in case.”

The room dimmed, the gap between light and dark lost in muddied patches of brown and lighter brown.

“These things suck,” Bobby said, disgusted.

“But you look way cool, Ray,” Coco added.

Bobby shook his head. It was clear that, at least for now, he’d have to live with the glasses. Maybe by venturing into the woods, he’d triggered some permanent injury to his eyes. No one knew the real reason for his headaches and bouts of blindness.

What was happening to him was outside the realm of known medicine, of that he was certain. They were only guessing at his diagnosis with the science available. As far as he knew, no modern doctor specialized in disorders of a psychic nature.

Bobby’s stomach flopped with dread. It had been a while since he’d noticed any improvement in his sight. Maybe this was as good as it was going to get.

He heard someone yawn.

“Dana’s getting tired. I’ve got to get her home before the sheriff calls in the state troopers.”

“Don’t even joke about stuff like that,” Bobby said. He cringed, imagining himself chained to the house, unable to get around on his own. Like his Dad. Worse, it would be the two of them, caged up here, helpless, depending upon the kindness of others.

He felt the anger rise inside him. “Everybody go. Please. I’m tired. I can take care of myself, okay? Just blow out the candles on your way to the door.”

“Feel better, Bobby,” he heard Dana say softly.

“Thanks, Dana. Thanks for talking. It was nice to hear your voice.”

“I’ll be right back, asshole,” Coco said. “Whether you want me or not. And don’t try to lock me out. I have the key.”

Bobby grabbed a pillow from the couch and flung it, where he had no idea. “Fuck you, Woods.”

“Careful, idiot. Gabe hasn’t blown all the candles out yet.”

He swallowed. He’d forgotten she was there.

“You can go, too,” Bobby said. He felt around the coffee table for empty dishes, stacked them on his arm and shuffled carefully toward the kitchen sink.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m a pro. I can do this blindfolded.”

A fresh wave of sorrow washed over him. It was Tuesday night, wasn’t it? He had the note to return to work Wednesday night. And he was determined to do it. He had to.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obvious you can’t see worth spit.”

Bobby turned toward her and smiled. “How much do you want to bet?”

“How many fingers do I have up?”

“Six.”

“Fail. I didn’t even lift my hand. Get back on that couch before you hurt yourself. At least give yourself the chance to heal.”

Gabe took the dishes and gently pushed him in the direction of the couch. The sound of running water and clinking dishes made him want to scream. She was doing his dishes. Bobby kept his expression neutral out of sheer pride, but inside he was pulling apart.

“H
ey,” Gabe said, sitting beside him. “Feel like getting your guitar and giving me an official performance?” Bobby drummed his fingers on his thigh, weighing his options. He could either sit on the couch and feel helpless, or actually do something. Maybe playing would calm him down before he climbed clear out of his skin.

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He stood and headed for the door to his room, wondering if maybe he should’ve caved and used that white cane. But, no. That would be defeat. His eyes would be better soon enough.

After walking into the wall again, he found the doorknob to his room. It was too bad he’d left it such a mess. Clothes strewn over the floor made fighting his way to the closet an obstacle course, but finally he found the closet and realized that he faced yet another challenge.

He’d thrown Aaron’s baseball gear in with all of their other crap. Somewhere under the mess, his guitar was buried. It was like playing pick-up sticks—he had to be careful not to pull the whole thing down. He grabbed what felt like the neck of the guitar and pulled carefully, but the contents of his closet came rumbling out in a noisy clatter around his feet.

The door opened and the light flicked on. “Problem in here?”

“Kind of. I don’t know where to start.”

“I’ll help you clean it up. You just tell me where everything goes.”

“Forget it. It’s okay.”

“It’s a hazard. You could trip over it.”

“Forget it, Gabe. Quit worrying so much about me or I’ll send you home.”

She was silent for a beat, chewing on her hair, he imagined. “I’m not leaving until Coco gets back, so you can forget that.”

Bobby smiled and sat on his bed, guitar resting on his lap. “Well, he sure seems to be taking his sweet ass time.”

“What’s the rush?” asked Gabe, sitting beside him.

“This room is disgusting. We should go in the living room.”

“I’ll just shut the light. Then neither of us will care.”

The room dimmed, and Gabe sat next to him again.

“So, go ahead. Play that song from the other day.”

Bobby rested his hands on the body of the guitar, pressing his lips together. Not being able to see her did little to calm the heat he felt from just sitting next to her.

“It’s nice here in the dark with you,” she said softly and raised his fingers to her lips. He shuddered in response, then pushed her away.

“You should go out there and wait on the couch. I’m too tired to play. I think I’ll go to sleep.”

He heard her inhale sharply. “What’s wrong with you, Bobby? Why can’t you believe that I actually like you?”

He ran his hands over the guitar’s pitted surface, each scratch and groove a memory. “It’s just kind of far-fetched. We have nothing in common, for starters. I’m a piss-poor ignoramus who’s going nowhere fast, and to add the icing on the cake I can’t even see right.”

“I don’t care,” Gabe said. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“What about your dad? What about my job? He’ll fire my ass if I lay a hand on you.”

“He doesn’t need to know.” She took his hand. “You make me feel something inside. I don’t know exactly why, but when I’m not around you, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

He wanted to look at her. Wanted to gaze into those amber-gold eyes. He was steering by sonar, having to trust something other than his sight. Most of all, he wanted to touch her.

“I just…I guess I’m not the most trusting sort. I-I—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Bobby Robert. It’s not like I ever had time for a boyfriend or anything before.”

“You’re not serious.”

She stood. “Look, I’m probably being selfish—pushing you into something you’re in no shape to deal with. You need to be focusing on your health, not the needs of some lonely, messed-up girl.”

He heard the catch in her voice.

“Gabe, that’s not it at all. It’s just that I’m… I just… I have trouble trusting anything. Or anyone.”

“Oh, so it’s the ‘it’s me, not you’ thing?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I wouldn’t want to get you mixed up in this crap. You have no idea.”

“What, you’re a spy? You’re an alien? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Gabe, you’re the one with secrets—the one who ran away. You don’t seem like you’re in any rush to explain yourself either. How ‘bout we just call it a truce. Let our feelings bubble on the back burner while we think things over. If you still feel you want to get close when you know me better, fine. Meantime, you wanted me to play for you.”

“Wow,” Gabe said, clapping softly. “When we first met, I didn’t know you had that many words in you. Nice speech.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“You really need to get over your insecurities.”

“Sorry. Being a blind hick with no future can do that to a guy.”

When she didn’t answer, he started playing, but stopped when he heard the gentle closing of the door.

He took the guitar into the living room, squinting into the bright haze. If anything, his eyes felt like they were getting worse. The room swam in a soup of light and blotchy mist. He called for Pete. “Petey, boy. Get your toy and bring it to Gabe.”

He heard the dog’s excited panting as he fetched his favorite chew toy and pranced over to the couch.

He sat beside her. “That wasn’t nice.”

“What you said wasn’t nice, either. You act like I’m some kind of stuck-up twit.”

“If I just go by what I know, what am I supposed to think? You’re a concert pianist attending a top private school, and not, I gather, on a scholarship. Your mother is an opera singer. You come from a world that might as well be Mars, as far as I know. What do you expect me to think?”

“Maybe that I never fit in that world, either,” she said, her voice thick.

Crap. He wondered if she was crying. Maybe he had her all wrong. Maybe he was being a colossal jerk.

“If you push me away because I don’t fit in your world,
where
do I belong? Can you tell me that?”

He sighed. “I really made a mess of this, didn’t I? For what it’s worth, I never fit in here, either. I’m just stuck here, like a foot wedged into an uncomfortable shoe.”

“I don’t see you that way at all, Bobby.”

“Sure you don’t. That’s because you got the same rose-colored glasses as Mr. Cooper, always believing in fairy tales.”

Gabe began to sob loudly, as if she couldn’t catch her breath, pulling in heaving gulps of air.

Shit, shit, shit
.

“Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m an idiot. I say the wrong thing all the time.”

“It’s not your fault,” she spluttered. “You’re going through so much. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please stop crying, Gabe,” he whispered. “No more ‘sorry.’ We’ve ‘sorry’ed each other half to death.”

She stopped. “Okay. Truce.”

For lack of anything better to do, Bobby started playing the guitar, gently picking out the tune he’d started only days before. He wasn’t about to admit the song was for her, but hoped the notes would calm her down a little. And him, too.

“So pretty. You mind if I just lie here and listen? I’m pooped.”

“No problem.” Eventually he heard her slow, even breaths.

He realized he had dozed off, himself, when he heard the door creak open. He felt on the couch where Gabe had been sleeping. She was gone.

“Coco? That you?”

“None other.”

“Took you long enough. Things get hot and heavy with you and Dishwater?”

“Very nice, Bobby. We had a fight. She’s not talking to me.”

“What about?”

“It’s of a personal nature. She’s got troubles at home, you know? What about you and Ms. Friend?”

“Do you see her?”

“No.”

“There’s your answer.”